


body worship

by stelleappese



Series: kinktober 2017 [1]
Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, I guess that's all?, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 21:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12241032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelleappese/pseuds/stelleappese
Summary: Meyer thinks he's not attractive. Charlie is outraged.





	body worship

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Kinktober 2017](https://kinktober2017.tumblr.com/post/163962052261/kinktober-2017).
> 
> Let's pretend it's not already the 2nd in my country.  
> Let's also pretend I hadn't already started writing this for a whole different reason.
> 
> The prompt is, as you can guess, "Worship (Body, etc)"

“Wait,” says Charlie, holding a hand up and frowning at Meyer, “What?”  
“I said it's common knowledge that this man has a preference towards people of his same sex, so I was thinking you or Benny should go talk to him.”  
“Yeah, no, I heard that part.”  
“Good. I think you would be better, since Benny has a tendency to...”  
“The other thing,” says Charlie, “That other thing you said?”  
Meyer sighs. “Fine. I know you heard me. What's wrong?”  
“Maybe I ain't heard you right,” Charlie insists.  
“He said we should do it because we're attractive.” Benny says, and shrugs. “Which is not wrong. At least as far as I'm concerned.”  
“What's that supposed to mean? That _we_  are attractive?”  
Meyer frowns at Charlie. “I have no idea what about the sentence 'you are attractive' makes you panic like this.”  
“It's the _implication_ ,” says Charlie, mimicking Meyer's cadence, possibly completely involuntarily, “That you are _not_  attractive.”  
Meyer blinks at him. “I'm not,” he says, “That's a fact. And being pretty is not really high in my list of aspirations,”  
“That's complete horseshit,” Charlie insists, “I think you're attractive.”  
“This conversation is making me very uncomfortable,” Benny says.  
“Shut the fuck up, Benny,” snaps Charlie, automatically. “What's not to like about you?” he goes on, looking at Meyer.  
“I can think of a few things,” Meyer says, and his matter-of-fact tone seems to get Charlie even more worked up.  
“Well, I can think of plenty of things anybody with a brain _would_  like.”  
“Listen,” sighs Meyer, “I did _not_  mean to start a debate. Benny can go talk to the man, it's...”  
“It _is_  a big deal!”  
“That isn't what I was going to say.”  
“That sure as fuck  _is_ what you were going to say.”  
“Fine. I was going to say that. Will you shut up, now?”  
“I will _not_!”  
“Hey, guys,” says Benny, trotting back towards them, “He says they move the money twice a week, on Thuesday and Friday, at seven PM sharp.”  
Charlie and Meyer stop talking and look at him.  
“I'm sorry, what?” says Meyer.  
Benny points at the pawn shop. “Thuesday and Friday, seven PM.” he repeats, “He says I have very soulful eyes.”  
“All right,” says Meyer. “Well, that's done, then.”  
“Says you,” mutters Charlie.  
“Shut up, Charlie.” Meyer shoots back, but the words sound like something he's said thousands of times before, shedding some meaning every time they left his lips.

*

“Seriously, thought.” Charlie insists, “You are very attractive.”  
“Can you not?” Meyer snorts, emptying the ashtrays the guests of their poker game have left scattered around the room.  
“This is important, Meyer,” Charlie almost whines.  
“It really isn't.”  
“It is. It's important to me. Your closest friend. The guy who would risk his life for you.”  
“The guy who steals my cigarettes when he thinks I'm not looking.”  
“That's what friends do.”  
“Right.”  
“ _Meyer_ ,”  
Meyer drops the garbage bag on the floor and turns around.  
“ _What_?”  
“You ain't ugly. I ain't saying that because I think you're fishing for compliments, you just _ain't_ ,”  
“Are you done?” Meyer sighs, exasperated.  
“There are _so many things_  about you I like.”  
“Fine. Ten things.”  
“Uh?”  
“Ten things you like about me. Go. And they need to be physical things, no 'you've got a great personality' bullshit.”  
“Trust me, there ain't no risk of that happening,” Charlie snorts.  
Meyer stares at him for a moment, looking unimpressed. “Rude,” he says, then: "What's number one?”  
Charlie opens his mouth to answer, or maybe to complain some more, but Benny bursts in complaining about being hungry, and Charlie's mouth clicks shut.

*

“Your eyes,” Charlie says, his breath puffing white, hands stuffed under his armpits to keep himself warm.  
“What about them?” Meyer asks. The man they're waiting for hasn't showed up yet. At least the car is comfortable.  
“You have pretty eyes.” Charlie shrugs.  
“Cheesy,”  
“Just saying.”  
“That is such a cliché I'm not even going to count it.” Meyer snorts.  
“Fuck you, Meyer, they're fucking pretty and it's the goddamned truth.”  
“They're brown.”  
“Brown eyes are pretty.”  
The man comes out of the pub, wobbling a little and laughing. Meyer opens the door.  
“Whatever you say, Charlie,” he says, as he gets out.

*

“Your lips are also pretty,”  
“Oh, for fuck's sake...”  
“Shut the fuck up, Meyer. That's two.”  
Meyer sighs, sets his half-eaten bagel down on his plate.  
“One. And I'm being generous.”  
“Fine.” Charlie concedes. “Your arms. You have _great_  arms. Very, uh. Well defined.”  
He actually blushes a little, looking at Meyer's forearms, left bare by his rolled-up sleeves.  
Meyer follows Charlie's eyes, but he can't really see anything particular in his arms.  
“Your hands are also good.”  
“My hands are good.”  
“Yeah, they're... good hands.” Charlie whispers, eyes unfocused, biting his lower lip.  
“Hey,” Meyer says, snapping his fingers in front of Charlie's face. Charlie actually flinches.  
“What?” he mutters, looking embarrassed.  
“I'm going to count that as two.”  
“I told you four things!”  
“Two of those things were shit.”  
“Asshole.”  
“Eat your fucking bagel, Charlie.” Meyer snaps. Charlie mumbles under his breath, but he keeps eating.

*

Meyer is leaning against the desk, covering his eyes with a hand, a cigarette smoking between his fingers. The room is badly lit, but the feeble light still hurts his eyes.  
“Hey,” Charlie says, closing the door behind him.  
“Hey,” Meyer sighs.  
“You worry too much,” Charlie says. Meyer hears the grin in his voice and he's tempted to throw an ashtray at him.  
“I'm not in the mood, Charlie.” Meyer says.  
“What mood are you in?” Charlie asks. The sounds of his steps grows closer. Charlie's hand rests on Meyer's side.  
“Not in _that_  one.” Meyer answers, but the fight has gone out of his voice. He sets both hands against the desk, tilts his head back to look at Charlie, who shrugs at him.  
“What mood are you in?” he says again. He doesn't move away, but he raises his hands up to untie Meyer's tie.  
“I need a drink and nine hours of sleep.” Meyer says.  
“Sounds doable,” Charlie says, tugging Meyer's tie off, loosening his collar a bit.  
“I can't remember the last time slept for a whole night without you or Benny messing something up.”  
“How about,” Charlie says, his hand sneaking under Meyer's collar and molding warmly to the back of his neck, squeezing softly, “I sleep right next to you?”  
“You snore,” Meyer grins.  
“I do not,” Charlie snorts, leaning in, “You liar,” he murmurs, against Meyer's lips, before kissing him. It's quick, but Meyer puts out his cigarette and gets ready to demand some more kissing.  
“I like this too,” Charlie says, fingers pressing softly against the nape of Meyer's neck.  
“Charlie...”  
“And the curve of your back,” Charlie continues, pressing a kiss to Meyer's neck, “I like the curve of your back so much...”

 _That_  Meyer can understand. An image flashes in his mind: his hands on Charlie's hips, following his movements as Charlie pushes back against him, face pressed against the pillow, hair all curly and messy, his muscles tight under his skin, the curve of his back the closest thing to perfection ever created.

“You have nice shoulderblades too,” Charlie murmurs, lips pressed against Meyer's hair, “And nice collar bones.”  
He tugs at Meyer's collar some more, digging a hand inside his shirt to follow the shape of Meyer's collar bones.  
“Maybe I am in that mood, actually” Meyer whispers. Charlie giggles against the side of Meyer's head.

*

“And a nice belly,” Charlie adds, as if they'd been talking about this all along. He pokes Meyer's stomach, making Meyer squirm underneath him on the couch. “Would be better if it was a little bit softer. But you're soft here, so it's all right,” he says, poking a spot around Meyer's kidneys, and, since he's at it, sliding his hand down to give his ass a squeeze. “This, too, is a very nice attribute.”  
“Are you done, now?” Meyer asks, but he's too mollified to really get annoyed.

There's a downpour outisde, the rain pummeling against windows and walls, the wind howling wildly. But the fire is crackling, painting the room orange and elongating every shivering shadow; and Charlie feels so warm everywhere his body touches Meyer's.

“Not even close,” Charlie says, in a whisper, unbuttoning Meyer's vest.  
“I'm sure you've already named ten things,” Meyer says.  
“Not according to you, I ain't.” Charlie says. He tugs Meyer's shirt out of his pants, opens it up, slowly. Meyer feels too heavy to sit up and let Charlie undress him properly, so he just lies there with shirt and vest still half-on, fingers digging into Charlie's hair.  
He closes his eyes and grins at the darkness behind his eyelids when Charlie starts planting kisses across his stomach, all the way down to his bellybutton.

*

“I like the shape your hair makes at the nape of your neck,” Charlie says, leaning to whisper into Meyer's ear as they wait for A.R. to arrive.  
“This is not the time or the place for...”  
“There are two moles on the inside of your right elbow that look like a tiny exclamation mark, and they're my favorite thing in the world.”  
Meyer snorts. “That isn't true.”  
“Ain't it?” grins Charlie. He's too close for Meyer's liking. People could get the wrong impression. A.R. could see them, and he's too smart not to figure them out.  
“I do not have two moles on the inside of my...” Meyer says, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeve, but stopping when he gets to the inside of his elbow, and there they are, right where the skin is more delicate and soft. “Oh,” he murmurs, and suddenly he doesn't care if Charlie is too close _or_  if A.R. figures out what they're up to.  
“I never noticed that.” he says, frowning.  
“I pay attention,” Charlie says.  
“Your favorite thing in the world,” Meyer quotes, giving him a look and smirking.  
“My favorite thing in the world,” Charlie repeats, smirking back at him.

Meyer hates the fact that they're sitting in a restaurant, that people are busy all around them, chatting and laughing and carrying dishes around. He _hates_  that he can't just drag Charlie down and kiss him.

*

“This, here,” Charlie says, pressing a kiss to Meyer's calf, “And I like this too,” he continues, kissing the inside of Meyer's knee.  
“God, Charlie, you need to stop.” Meyer murmurs, without conviction.  
“And this,” Charlie adds, kissing up Meyer's thigh, biting him lightly and dragging his teeth against his skin. “You've got pretty good legs in general, really.”  
“That's... good to know.”  
“And this spot here,” Charlie says, lips pressing against the skin between Meyer's hip and his crotch. “That's one of my favorites.”  
“ _Why_?” Meyer asks.  
“I don't know. It's just so nice.”  
“That is _definitely_  more than ten,” Meyer says. He's still flustered and vaguely frustrated by Charlie's teasing, but Charlie's ridiculousness takes priority over Meyer's need for sex, at least for a little bit longer. “I think you're making things up as you go.”  
“I ain't even started yet,” Charlie laughs, “What about your hips?” a kiss, “And your hipbones,” another kiss, “And this trail of hair here?” he follows the hair under Meyer's bellybutton, looks up at him as he gets comfortable between his legs and wraps a hand around his cock.  
“Of course, I also like this, but it pretty much goes unsaid,” he shrugs, slowly starting to stroke it.  
“You just like the way I use it,” Meyer says, perching up on his elbows and looking at Charlie, “Not the way it looks.”  
“I love the way it looks,” Charlie says, and the way he says it, the way he looks at Meyer, the little grin on his lips, make Meyer shiver. “I like the shape of it. The pretty curve of it,” he says, running his tongue against the underside of it, as if to taste said curve himself. “I like the color, too.” Charlie says, pressing a sloppy kiss to the tip of Meyer's cock.  
“Why would you even pay attention to all these things?” Meyer asks, but Charlie has already taken Meyer's cock in his mouth and he's humming around it, eyes closed as he bobs up and down slowly, following the rhythm with strokes of his hand.

Meyer looks at him, biting the inside of his cheek to keep quiet. It's really hard not to believe his words right this moment, as he twirls his tongue around the head of Meyer's cock and reaches down to palm his own erection through his pants.

“Guess I figured out how to make you shut up,” Meyer says, his voice hoarser and tighter than he would have liked. Charlie opens his eyes and gives him a look, he sits up a little, licks his lips as he keeps stroking Meyer's cock.  
“Fuck you, Meyer,” he snorts, climbing up to kiss him.

*

The blinds are low, but the sun is high, and the floor is speckled with mishapen dots of incandescent light. Charlie's curls are pressed against the pillow like a halo around his head as he screws his eyes shut and swallows down a moan. His breath catches with every thrust of Meyer's hips. His cock is hard against his stomach, but he doesn't reach down to touch it; instead, he grabs Meyer and pulls him closer, takes hold of his hips to spur him on.

Meyer is breathing hard, close enough to coming he lets Charlie guide him right where he wants him, almost lying on top of him, Charlie's cock rubbing against his stomach as he moves, his thighs pressing against Meyer's hips.

“ _Fuck_ , Meyer,” Charlie murmurs, pressing his head against the crook of his neck. “I like this too,” he says, fingers pressing against the dimples at the end of Meyer's spine, “And I like your hair when it's all floppy after we fuck. I like the freckles on your shoulders.”

Meyer curses between his teeth, hips slamming against Charlie harder, head spinning. Charlie whimpers, he wraps himself around Meyer, fingers grabbing at his hair.

“God,” he whispers, “My pretty little Meyer,” and he presses his lips against Meyer's shoulder.  
Meyer grabs the headboard with a hand, closes his eyes and keeps thrusting into Charlie as the orgasm washes through him.  
“ _Shit_ ,” he says, a bit shaken.  
Charlie catches his breath; he finally wraps a hand around his own cock and starts lazily stroking it. “Come here,” he says, the hand still in Meyer's hair pulling him down for a kiss.  
“Are you done, now?” Meyer asks, his hand joining Charlie's in massaging his cock.  
“Don't think so,” Charlie says, closing his eyes again, hips bucking up to meet Meyer's touch, grinning as he throws his head back.

 


End file.
